


From an Amirable Point of View

by acuteneurosis



Series: Through the Eyes of the Beholder [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Family Drama, Gen, Skywalker Family Drama (Star Wars), Skywalker Family Feels (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27377869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acuteneurosis/pseuds/acuteneurosis
Summary: A collection of one-shots, behind-the-scenes moments from For Want of a Skywalker from a beleaguered, overworked admiral's point of view. Separated from the main text because that story was finished.But that doesn't mean Piett's work was done.
Relationships: Firmus Piett & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader, Leia Organa & Firmus Piett
Series: Through the Eyes of the Beholder [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671883
Comments: 17
Kudos: 166





	From an Amirable Point of View

Missing his ship was just one of the many side effects of being one of the only officers Lord Vader trusted right now. It was hardly the worst of them, but Piett had gone into the Navy partly because life on a ship appealed to him in ways that life planet side did not. And while he was grateful for his unexpected promotions, now that he wasn’t terrified of them, they meant that Lord Vader had expectations for what Piett would do now that he was grounded for the foreseeable future.

Involved in a coup. To make Lord Vader emperor.

Things like attending political meetings. And doing legislative paperwork. And reviewing proposals and suggestions that were far above his not inconsiderable pay grade.

All of it just made Piett miss his ship.

It had been worse this past week, since the prince had escaped with Captain Solo, leaving an incandescently furious Emperor and hysterically weeping toddler for Piett to deal with.

Sometimes, Piett really hated Luke Skywalker. Imperial prince or not.

“My lord,” Piett said as he entered Lord Vader’s office. It didn’t trip off the tongue naturally anymore. He was too used to referring to Lord Vader as His Excellency or His Majesty when talking to other people. But Lord Vader was deeply uncomfortable with the title most of the time, and was almost more happy if Piett would just call him sir.

It was difficult to keep straight.

“I’ve brought the treaties that the Moffs would like you to sign.” Very hopeful, the Moffs were. At least, the ones that were currently here. Many had flocked to Coruscant or sent representatives to pledge loyalty and make not terribly subtle requests for permission to just carry on as usual. Lord Vader alternated between being amused and murderously furious at them.

Surprisingly, he had more respect for the military leaders and Moffs that had refused to return and were organizing against him. He would crush them, certainly, but he was very practical about it, as Lord Vader always was.

He had no illusions about how many people in the galaxy actually liked him. “I assume these are just as naively optimistic as the last pile of trash they sent to me?”

Lord Vader was sitting very upright at his desk, which stuck Piett as odd though he couldn’t place why. He hoped it wasn’t pain, or breathing problems. Lord Vader claimed he had recovered to what his normal functioning standards had been for the past few years, but even without Luke’s patent skepticism at his father’s words, Piett would have been suspicious of such a claim.

He did know his commander.

“More so,” Piett said, wishing he didn’t have to hand them over. “There have been some suggestions that you might want to hand over the territory rights to Ryloth.”

Which wasn’t surprising, given that the Princess’s interview with the delegates from that system had only gone marginally better than if Lord Vader himself had attended. No one had died in the room. But it had been painful to watch the tiny prince at the executions, trapped between the cold indifference of his sire and the almost savage calm of his sister. The boy wasn’t supposed to be there, but once he had shown up, it would’ve drawn more attention to remove him instead of letting him silently cling to his father’s leg, wrapping Lord Vader’s cloak around him and hiding his face when the second round of shots was fired.

When it was finished, he had abandoned his father and would only allow Piett to carry him back in.

Two of the delegates had been allowed to live, but it was generally assumed there would be aggressive restructuring of who oversaw the sector.

“I suppose if Luke wants it,” Lord Vader might have been trying for a joke, although it was hard to tell. Piett knew the prince and his father had argued about the executions once the prince had been old enough to voice a cohesive opinion. It was possible Lord Vader thought gifting his son with the care of the planet would appease him.

Piett doubted it. Prince Luke was still refusing to take over Black Squadron in Vader’s absence. Because he “hadn’t earned it.”

“I’m sure these will at least be amusing,” Piett said as he brought them over, removing other items from Lord Vader’s desk that were covered in violent notes, making sure not to touch the datapad with the princess’s rules and regulations, carefully typed out and annotated, outlining acceptable boundaries for Lord Vader’s behavior.

Lord Vader had been following them religiously, especially since she’d shrunk. Which was what they had been written for. But the atmosphere was still a bit off. Maybe that was what Piett was sensing.

His hands skipped over the plate of fruit, grabbed a stylus Lord Vader had broken, straightened a few flimsies and a different datapad, and eventually came back to rest professionally at his sides. “Is there anything more, sir?”

“Not now,” Lord Vader said, and it was so stiff that Piett knew it for a complete dismissal. He was all the way to the door and bowing when his brain finally registered what he had seen.

A plate of cut fruit slices. On Lord Vader’s desk.

The princess’s third rule for the new Emperor was that he was not to distract himself with small children while he was working, and not to allow them near important delegates or documents that might end up with scribbles of droids, Lord Vader, or, Piett shuddered at the memory, defenseless admirals on them.

The prince, with his markers, had been a _menace_.

“Shall I summon the minder droid?” Piett asked, hands clasping neatly behind his back.

“Does it appear that I need one?” Lord Vader’s tone was trying to be threatening, and it was a testament to how far things had fallen that it was a try, Piett recognized it as a try, and it was not a success. Lord Vader had never used to try, he’d just done.

He did not move, could not flinch, not with that mask covering his face. But Piett knew that stillness now almost as well as he had known Lord Vader’s other tics. They kept a man alive.

So the admiral just stood, waiting for Lord Vader to answer his own question because they both knew that—

Lord Vader’s cloak was shifting on his shoulder, in spite of his own lack of movement. Like it was being tugged. When the motion stopped, Piett watched as, while Lord Vader sat perfectly still, a single slice of fruit slid off the plate, hovered to the edge of the desk, and dropped out of view.

There was a not-quiet-enough whispered “Thank you,” from behind the desk and the soft sounds of a small child trying to silently eat a juicy slice of fruit.

Piett now knew, because his life was hell and a cosmic joke, that under Lord Vader’s mask he was probably looking as chagrined as a man could be, caught hiding his magical toddler daughter under his desk and sneaking her fruit. Badly. And Piett knew what that expression would look like because he’d seen Lord Vader’s chagrinned face multiple times in the medbay after the man had woken.

And because Piett had scrounged up every single scrap of holo content that he could of General Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker off the dark corners of the Net, in sheer self-defense.

There was strangely a lot. And he wished he could forget most of it. He did not need to know about the decades of shameless speculation strangers had composed about the romantic proclivities of the Hero With No Fear.

Because it was his job, and because Lord Vader was clearly not going to help him, but probably wouldn’t stop him, Piett braved a, “Princess Leia,” and waited patiently as she crawled around the edge of the desk, looking up at him with a concerning, adorable look of sheepish defiance.

“Amiral Peet?”

“Where are you supposed to be, Princess?” he asked, making sure to not look at Lord Vader.

She squirmed. “Hiding.”

Piett considered this, how it was not true, but technically could be, how she had been crying most of the last few days and wasn’t right now, and how he would have to be the bad guy and summon the droid because Lord Vader wasn’t going to do it.

And then he made the mistake of looking at Lord Vader and his decision was made. “If you have no further need of me, my lord, I’ll be reviewing the practice schedule for the flyover.”

“Thank you, Admiral.”

And if they were both breaking the princess’s rule, oh well. That was not Piett’s problem. He was on duty for another four hours and not allowed to drink. He had to cope somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, three days into November and here we already are. Procrastination +1. (In my defense, there are a lot of reasons to avoid reality today.)
> 
> More procrastination and opinions over on my [tumblr](https://this-acutenuerosis.tumblr.com/).


End file.
